Tuesday, February 23, 2010

I've had my period, 5 days on and 3 days off, for an entire month now.

Awesomeness.

If there's one thing that will make you love life, it's a never-ending period. I mean, seriously. Is this for real?

You may be thinking to yourself, how can this be happening? What could possibly make someone this menstrual-fabulous? Well, hormones, friends. Hormones will make someone have this problem. See, Interferon put me into a forced menopause five lovely years ago (at the age of 29- more awesomeness), and although my body recovered from that treatment somewhat, my hormones never really bounced back. When my doctor and I discovered this, we took some measures to get my body back in the swing of things. Which, in some ways, is great! For example, I have a lot more energy than I did before, my metabolism is better, and I'm not as irritable as before. Then everything sort of went haywire, and now I have a non-stop visit from Aunt Flo. Totally throws off my "another successful month" attitude about my period.

I can survive this. It's really no big deal. Just a little inconvenient. Want to hear the kicker, though? Flashbacks. That's right. Remember that first time that you walked into a hospital after like 1 whole month of not having to see your oncologist? That sick feeling of dread? Well, I had finally gotten over that, but that whole "what is my body going to do next" feeling came back with flying colors during the last month. I kept thinking, why am I gaining weight? why am I so tired? why am I needing so much sleep? is the melanoma back? why won't my leg stop swelling? when am I going to be able to work out again? why won't my body cooperate? All those things that I felt for so long when I was going through treatment just came flooding back.

What an eye opener. It's so easy just to fall back into working and living, without remembering vividly how I took life for granted before cancer. And how I've immersed myself in the sleepwalking of life again after cancer.

Why do I ever complain? When life is so good, when I am healthy, when I have so little to worry about. So many of my friends are still dealing with crazy complications from treatment every single day- having life threatening surgeries, dealing with graft vs. host, having scans showing growth in tumors. And here I am, happy, healthy, living the life of my dreams, really.

It was a gift, I guess, to see it again. One of those gifts that makes you stop and think about how easy it is to get caught up in the things that really don't matter. One of those gifts that, let's face, you don't always want to receive. But it's good to stop and take note.

I'm trying to remember that I WANT things like this to happen. I want the reminder that everything is impermanent, that I have no control. I need to be reminded that everything that I love and depend on and enjoy can be ganked in the blink of an eye.

Imerman Angels

In Loving Memory of

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.- Henri Nouwen